Not my fault
by JenniferHawke
Summary: After refusing to help Anders sneak into the Chantry, Hawke is filled with fear. She knows not what he plans, only that it will end in bloodshed. Aware that the Anders she once knew is long gone, she warns Knight Captain Cullen that her friend plans something foul. However, Anders is a resourceful man. One who has an escape plan. Enraged, he demands Hawke answer for her betrayal.


**Notes: **This story, while consensual, depicts an unhealthy sex scene between two vulnerable people. If you have any triggers, please make note that this story may be slightly triggering. It's essentially rough, rivalry sex and some of the unhealthy behaviours that come with that territory.

I saw a YT clip where Hawke can attempt to turn in Anders to the Templars shortly before the end of the game. Shocked that I had never seen this occur, I kinda spiraled down a rabbit hole at what those consequences might look like between Anders and a Hawke who has rivaled him, yet respected him, throughout the years. ALSO, this is my very first time writing a non-mage Hawke, what?!

To my lovely readers who have been waiting for an update on Lyrium & Lace, my deepest apologies. This year has been one thing after the other, I will provide a better explanation in my next update. I have been working on my next chapter, and it is mostly complete. However, I am a bit stuck as needed a writing exercise to help get the creative juices flowing again. Thus, this little one-shot was born.

* * *

"_There is one more thing I must ask of you Hawke, and I can't tell you why. I must get inside the Chantry, without being seen. Will you talk to the Grand Cleric for me? Distract her long enough for me to do what must be done?"_

_Unease washed over Hawke as she stood before Anders in his decrepit clinic. From the moment they returned to Darktown, Anders' mystifying ingredients in hand, a foreboding sensation sprouted from within, seeds of doubt planting within her mind. And now, Anders wanted help again. It made no sense that this ritual of his would involve the Chantry. There had to be more to it. _

"_Tell me your plan."_

"_You would not thank me if I told you. If you support freedom for mages, help me. That's all I can say." His elusive answer only furthered her doubt. For the last three years she'd watched as Anders sank deeper into despair. His behaviour became increasingly erratic, desperate, and now … this. He was hiding something, that much remained clear._

"_What is it you don't want me to see?" she prodded._

"_You said you believe in me. Then trust me now. I am only doing what is necessary." Yet again, he evaded the question, sowing more uncertainty._

"_Was this ever about you and Justice? Or have you lied this whole time?" Defensiveness crept into her voice. What mad scheme had he roped her into now? _

"_I lied. There is no potion. But what we have gathered will bring freedom for more than just me and Justice. It will help mages throughout Thedas. In the face of that, one lie means little."_

"_I can't act blindly. Tell me your plan," she demanded a second time._

"_I am taking a risk. I would not see you drawn into it. But maybe your support of mages ends at talk. It's easy to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it. You cannot pretend friendship, then stop now." _

_In an instant, her blood ran cold. The severity of his words, the implications that death was imminent … Hawke felt sick. Bile rose in her stomach. He was going to hurt someone, and because of her trusting nature, she had helped. _

"_Being a friend doesn't mean I have to agree with your every decision," she replied, hoping her gentle tone would cause him to lower his guard and let her in._

"_You cannot care for me and despise what I stand for. I am the cause of mages. There is nothing else inside me. Will you aid us now? Or does your support stop at the Chantry door?" _

"_That's unfair. I will not be blackmailed into aiding some mad scheme." He manipulated her friendship and trust, and now, he questioned her friendship. Despite the fury rising up from within, Hawke took a deep breath. "You're on your own."_

"_I have always been on my own. For a time, I just forgot." _

_Anders turned his back to her then, and Hawke knew he would indulge her curiosity no further. She left the clinic, her stomach forming into knots. "Oh Anders," she whispered under her breath. "What has become of you?"_

* * *

Hawke tossed and turned all night, sleep coming to her for but a few moments before adrenaline would kick in. Jolting upright, images of mangled, faceless corpses came to haunt her. She knew not of what Anders planned … only that blood would be shed. '_It's easy to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it.' _His insidious words rang as clear as a bell. Anders planned on hurting someone. Possibly multiple someone's. If she sat idle, if she ignored the voice that screamed from all corners of her mind, she would be his accomplice, the blood would be on her hands as much as his.

For years, she watched as he slipped into disarray. Slowly but surely, Justice took over, consuming Anders entirely. Ever since the spirit of vengeance emerged and killed that young mage Ella, Anders retreated further within himself. And now? It seemed only Justice prevailed. Her friend didn't exist anymore. Gone was the cheeky man she'd fawned over years ago, the one she spent nights longing for. Their flirtation had been brief. Any time she sent a mage to the circle, he reprimanded her for weeks. Once, not so long ago, she thought all mages deserved freedom, that they were just like Bethany … just like her father. But she would be a fool to still believe that after all she bore witness to in Kirkwall. She may have turned a blind eye to the occasional blood mage in her first years in the city of chains. But, following the brutual murder of her mother at the hand of that … that monstricity, she could ignore the dangers of magic no longer. When a mage proved themselves a danger to the public, she had little issue in sending them to the Gallows. This of course, never sat well with Anders.

Hawke had cared for him deeply once. She had wanted him by her side and in her bed. But his willful ignorance of the dangers that his kind possessed had severed that tie long ago. And now … he gave her no choice. She would not allow his demon's madness to run rampant on the city. She had to act, and she had to act now, before it was too late.

* * *

As she left the Gallows, her heart sank deep in her gut. Warning Knight Captain Cullen that Anders had something sinister planned was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Despite all his flaws, despite the madness that consumed him, she still cared for the mage deeply. Even through all the vicious words they hurled at one another over the years, she never stopped caring for him.

"_It's not my fault_," she whispered to herself on the boat ride back, blinking harshly to prevent tears from falling. Anders forced her hand in this, it was either her blade, or that of the Templars. And she didn't think she had the courage to do it herself. "_Please,"_ she'd begged Cullen. "_Do not make him tranquil. A quick and clean death should suffice."_

"_As you wish, Champion. I know you are a friend of his." _

_Was, _she wanted to correct him. She _was _a friend of his, once. Now, she had no claim to that title.

Hawke kept herself busy the rest of the day, not wanting a moment of quiet. While meandering about the city completing odd tasks she'd acquired through her letters, her mind would not relent, constantly fixating on Anders. Did he lay cold across the dirty clinic floor, blood spilling from the blade of a Templar? Would he know she betrayed him? Did his warm, honeyed eyes no longer hold life to them? On and on such thoughts persisted, until she couldn't bare to be out in plain sight a moment longer.

Dusk fell when she finally slunk home, the streets quieting down as vendors packed up their wares for the evening. Her footsteps fell heavy across the ground, limbs feeling as if weighed down by boots filled with boulders. When Hawke opened her front door, instead of warmth, darkness greeted her, a dying fire in the hearth barely flickering. Bodahn and Sandal would be gone at least another week, the dwarf taking his son on a long deserved vacation upon Hawke's insistence. She would not see her servants worked to the bone, not when they already did so much for her and the estate. As she approached her writing desk, she noticed a letter in Orana's scrawl laid out for her. That the former slave was putting her writing lessons to good use filled Hawke's burdened heart with a flicker of joy.

_Mistress,_

_All tasks have been completed for the day. I will be spending the evening with Syvana. Took Rufus with me. Will return come morning._

_Orana_

Hawke smiled upon finishing the note. Over the past few months, she had managed to get Orana out of the house more and more. Upon her urging, the young elven woman had even made a few friends in the alienage, one being Syvana. Hawke encouraged Orana to see her new friend whenever she felt the desire strike, and even suggested taking Rufus, her trusted mabari, out with her to serve as protection. Orana seemed to find great comfort with the hound, and for that, Hawke found solace. She knew under the mabari's careful watch, the elf would be safe.

But being alone at the moment was not what she had hoped for. Her heart weighed down by such immense guilt, her spirit nearly broke. She'd planned on collapsing atop her bed, face buried in her mabari's neck while she had a good cry. It appeared her pillows would have to suffice for Rufus' absence. But first, a hot bath beckoned her. She wanted to wash this horrible day from her skin and forget it ever happened. Briefly entering her room, Hawke discarded her armour set, placing it neatly on her stand and laying her daggers atop of her table. Afterwards, she lit a few candles on the mantle, giving a small flicker of light to the room for when she returned. A fire wasn't needed, with sleep on her mind and a warm summer's breeze drifting through the open window.

Rising from the ceramic tub after spending nearly an hour in the water, her skin pink and soft, Hawke dried herself off with a white linen before wrapping it around her slender frame. Wiping away a bit of condensation from the mirror, she stared at her reflection. Weary eyes glared back at her, and she could swear she aged a decade in the span of a day. With a deep sigh, her fingers pulled her hair pin free, her dry hair spilling across her back, as she'd kept it up for the duration of her bath. She did hate falling asleep on damp hair, not that she'd be able to sleep. Not that she deserved any form of comfort after what she'd done.

As the rogue entered her darkened bedroom, light scarce from the dwindling candles, her every nerve sprang to life. A palpable presence lingered in her room, and immediately she knew she wasn't alone. As if out of habit, she reached for the dagger that usually sat at her back, but realised all she donned was a simple drying linen.

"Looking for these?"

Hawke's eyes darted to the corner of the room where Anders held her daggers in hand. Fear took hold of her heart, squeezing relentlessly with it's icy grip.

"Anders?"

"Surprised to see me? I imagine you are, after your little meeting with the Knight Captain." Hawke's eyebrows rose, mouth ajar, yet no words could escape. "Ah. You must be wondering how I know about that. I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking. One of my connections in the Circle overheard the two of you. Got a message out to me before it was too late. I barely had time to escape. Your cellar tunnels proved to be most handy, yet again."

How could she forget? Years ago, she'd given Anders a key to the cellars that ran by his clinic and into her estate … just in case the Templar's ever came sniffing and he needed an escape. And now, it seemed, her kindness had come to bite her in the ass.

"So what, you're here to kill me?" she asked, voice low in her throat. Anders took a few steps closer, eyes alight with malice.

"And what, become you?" he responded coldly. "I came to ask you but one question. How could you do it, Hawke? I thought we were friends. I … I trusted you." He did not raise his voice, he didn't need to. Hurt and betrayal seeped in his tone, plucking at her heartstrings.

"You're a danger to yourself and those around you. You're going to hurt someone. I can't allow that to happen, Anders."

"So you send the Templars for me, my greatest nightmare come to fruition?"

"I asked that they spare you from Tranquility … if that's any consolation."

"It's not. You stabbed me in the back, Hawke. So I am here to rectify the situation." Dropping one dagger to the floor, he pushed the other's handle against her hand. "Here. If you want me dead, you must do it yourself."

"I will do no such thing," she said, pushing his hand away, along with the blade.

"Yes. You will. Or are you so much a coward you cannot finish what you started? How many mages have you sent to the Circle? How many have you condemned to death but were too afraid to kill on your own?" Anders pushed the dagger back into her hand. "Do it!"

"I will not!" she yelled, throwing the dagger across the room. Even if she wanted to, she knew there was a good chance Justice would emerge and defend himself. Either way, it would end with one of them dead on her bedroom floor. Her pupils flared, anger and guilt ebbing at the surface. Quickened breaths left her lungs, eyes glinting up into Anders' familiar hues of whiskey. The room filled with the thick scent of mana as Anders' cast upon it, a soft glow emitting from his finger tips.

"But I'm a dangerous mage, Hawke. You said so yourself. Do I not deserve to die? You're afraid of what these hands can do, so why not put an end to all that festers within them?" He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, and immediately the buzz of magic tingled across her skin. She jolted in place, expecting pain, but only the gentle wave of lightning danced across her skin - the barest taste of the power held within those fingers. She tingled all over, gentle flicks of energy lapping at her skin. Breath, heavy with frustration, now panted with surprise. All she could think of was the hands upon her - how many times had they healed her from grave injury? How many lives had they saved in his clinic, hidden in the bowels of the undercity? Never seeking coin or influence, only wishing to save those which were left cold and forgotten by the rest of the city. Her eyes filled with regret, sorrow, and … longing. Longing for a man who once brought light to her life, longing for a man who no longer stood before her. But he was there still, wasn't he, buried inside of the husk who loomed before her? Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe she could still save him.

"Anders," she breathed out, her voice lilted into a soft whisper. She'd meant to speak in the normal, diplomatic tone she took with him when attempting to assuage his anger. But with his mana dancing across her skin, sending a pleasant vibration down her spine, she spoke as if whispering the name of a cherished lover. A perplexed expression etched across his face as he peered down at her.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asked, voice bitter and curt.

"Like what?"

"Like you … like you're enjoying this." He removed his hands from her, ending his brief spell, and she whimpered against her own will.

"I wasn't … I'm not … enjoying this."

"Your eyes tell a different tale," he said, his own glancing down her body, where she just noticed her linen had slipped down slightly during their scuffle. Her eyes sought her own frame, noting the linen now barely concealed the tops of her breasts.

"Not going to cover yourself up?" he asked.

"Should I?" came her response. She knew he had desired her once. Perhaps not anymore, but if her flesh was enough to convince him there was more to him than… '_the cause of mages',_ she might convince him to live. To forget his mad plan and leave Kirkwall while he still had a chance. Anders' brow perked, a question brimming in his eyes, and she wanted to scold herself. She had done something unspeakable. Deplorable. And yet, her body burned bright for him at the smallest of touches, at the faintest hint of his magic. Perhaps it was the fact that earlier, she thought him dead. Perhaps she wanted to cling to him hard and convince him to see the error of his ways. Hawke knew not, only that suddenly, and unexpected, she longed for him in the most damning ways.

"Yes, you should," he growled angrily. "You think you can taunt me with what I could never have? I loved you once, you know."

"Anders … " she said, voice broken, nearly on the brink of sobbing. He had … loved her? No one had ever professed such utter words of devotion. Nor had she ever deemed herself worthy of such affection. And after what she'd done to him, he confessed now? Maker, what had she done?

"No. It is too late for remorse. It would have ended it flames, anyways." he said, his voice forgetting anger for melancholy. Surprisingly, he closed the distance between them with a single step. "But, if you persist in taunting me, I will have this. Tonight, I will have you."

Without the breath of another pregnant pause, his lips were upon hers, kissing her as if a man starved. Hawke gasped into his mouth, giving no delay in kissing him back just as hungrily. His tongue sought entry to her mouth, and eagerly, she allowed him inside. Anders moaned at this, wedging a hand in between them and tearing her linen from her body, tossing it to the side. He pulled back, eyes raking down her form.

"So willing to give yourself to me, a man you condemned to death by a force he detests more than anything in the world?" he asked. "If you want gentle, you will not find it here Hawke. I'm so angry, I could kill you, you know."

"I don't want gentle," she said, pressing herself to him once more. "Forget gentle. Just take me," she keened, tilting upwards on her toes to reach his mouth in another searing kiss. He moaned into her, grabbing her arms roughly, walking her backwards until her knees hit her bed. Harsh hands pushed her backwards, until she fell atop the covers with a bounce, her hair sprawling out beneath her.

"Under other circumstances, I would have told you how beautiful you look. I would have cherished every inch of your skin with soft kisses. I would have whispered words of adoration into those ears. But now? To the void with love. I'm going to give you what you deserve. A hard, emotionless fuck."

Anders unbuckled his robes, shedding every stitch of clothing nearly as fast as he had shed hers. Her eyes wandered to his half hard erection he took in hand, stroking it lazily. The mage smirked. "Look at you. I'll bet you've never even slept with a mage before, have you?"

Hawke shook her head slowly, eyes roaming back up to his own.

"Well, perhaps that is why you were so eager to send so many of us off to the Circle. If you knew what some of us are capable of, perhaps you'd be more eager to send us to your bed instead," he said, sinking to his knees before the end of the bed, in between where her legs dangled. "I've heard of your many outings at the Rose. A damn shame. I could have left you good and satisfied for weeks to come."

"A woman has needs," she said in an attempt to defend herself.

"That she does," he responded by rubbing the pad of his thumb through her slick folds, landing across her swollen nub. Hawke gasped, surprised how quickly he got to the thick of things. But then again, she half expected him to plow her right into the mattress without a moment to spare. That he gave her any attention at all surprised her. His thumb rubbed tight, achingly slow circles across her eager flesh. Just as Hawke closed her eyes and dipped her head back to relax against the bed, a jolt of lightning passed through her, consuming her whole.

"Anders!" she gasped, breathy and surprised. As she looked down, tiny sparks emitted from his thumb as he continued to rub her pearl. He smirked, but no joy found his eyes, which narrowed in the corners.

"Oh, I am just getting started with you." At once, he leaned forward, licking a slow line up her slit. Hawke's fingers wound into her sea of red sheets, toes curling as a very talented tongue licked her in slow lines, making no rush to send her into climax. "Mmmmm," he moaned against her flesh, suckling her clit into his mouth. He pulled away with a loud pop. "For a traitor, you certainly taste delicious." Her heart sank at those words, but she deserved as much. "If I am a dead man walking, I suppose I am to savour my last meal." How he so easily hurt her one second, and caused her arousal to soar the next was magic in itself. Hawke gasped softly as he ducked his head once more, busying himself with her flavour.

With a renewed vigor, Anders lapped at her essence, teasing her with soft flicks of tongue. Two thick fingers pressed against her entrance, but did not venture inside. Hawke whined, bucking her hips against him. Anders chuckled darkly.

"Look at you. Begging for a mage to fuck you. Is that what you want, sweetheart, hmm?" The term of endearment caught her off guard, but so consumed with pleasure, she simply nodded her head up and down. "What's that? I can't hear you."

"Please Anders," she gasped.

"That's better," he said, and sunk his fingers inside. The mage wasted no time in plunging them in and out, filling and stretching her as he lapped away at her clit. Hawke keened loudly, shaking with euphoria as she climbed ever higher, eager to reach that blessedly close peak and tumble over the edge. But as she trembled on the verge of climax, Anders cruelly pulled away. Hawke sprang forward, panic in her eyes.

"You … you wouldn't … "

"Be so cruel as to deny you release? As you tried to deny me life?"

"Anders … " she sobbed, eyes glossing over with mixed arousal and guilt.

"Don't worry. I am not so harsh. Perhaps I will allow you to come once you have earned it. But you … you have done nothing to earn it."

"The allow me to rectify that," she said, ambling off of the bed. Standing before him, she pushed him roughly against the bed much as he had done to her. He toppled backwards, giving her a look of amusement as she sank to her knees.

"It appears that someone likes it rough," he said.

"I give just as good as I get," she smiled coyly, immediately taking him into the warm cavern of her mouth. Anders' breath trembled with relief as she happily bobbed up and down, taking more of him inside with each descent. Her tongue laved the underside of his cock, massaging him each time she rose. Long fingernails dug into his thighs as she dipped her head up and down rapidly, working just as eagerly as he had worked her. Hawke needed this … a good, rough rutting. While she certainly enjoyed being helpless to a lovers efforts, she also enjoyed taking control. Bringing a man to the brink of madness by eager lips and a talented tongue.

"Yes," he groaned, fingers running through her locks. Hawke pulled off of him, looking up at his face, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

"You like that, do you?" she asked.

"Maker, yes. Don't stop."

"I don't intend to. I'm going to suck you until you can't take it anymore."

"Get to work, then," he grunted, tugging on her hair and leading her back to his member. Hawke sank forward, sliding him all the way to her throat while her nose nestled into his wiry pubic hair. Anders nearly yelped, hips twitching as she constricted her throat around him, coming back up for a deep gulp of air.

"Maker, you're good at that," he sighed contently. "If I had it my way, I'd like to fuck your throat properly."

"Go for it then," she responded with a smirk, her eyes issuing a challenge.

"I think I will. You deserve proper discipline for your actions," he said, both hands now winding into her hair and pushing her back down. While he did not press overly hard, it was enough to urge her back down to the base of him, where he held her for several long seconds. Just when she thought she couldn't hold herself there any longer, he tugged her back up, allowing her to take another deep breath of air. "That's enough, get back to work," he growled, and Hawke sank back forward. This time, his hands held her head still, instead choosing to lift his hips off the bed and use her mouth while he took his pleasure at his own pace. He did not force himself all the way inside, favoring more shallow thrusts as he quickly pistoned in and out of her mouth. Rivulets of saliva coated his shaft, wet sounds of flesh smacking against flesh filling the air. It only added to her ever growing arousal, her ruined orgasm leaving her a needy and wanton mess. Hawke pressed her thighs together, desperately seeking relief as she moaned against his invading member.

After a few minutes of this rough treatment of her mouth, Anders withdrew himself. Hawke ran her arm across her chin, wiping away the mess that had gathered. Keeping a hand tightly wound in her hair, Anders pulled as he stood, bringing her up with him.

"On the bed," he said, letting go of her locks, and she eagerly obeyed, impatient to have him inside of her. Hawke lay across the bed, head falling across plush pillows. Anders climbed up, ambling upon knees in between spread thighs. Taking himself back in hand, he rubbed himself against her, up and down, never entering. Hawke lifted her hips in an attempt to take him inside, but Anders pulled away.

"No. Beg me for it. Beg a mage to fuck you."

"Please, Anders," she whined.

"Please what, Hawke?"

"Please fuck me. Soft? Hard? I don't care. Just fuck me now."

Anders didn't deny her, sinking forward, spreading her wide with his thick length. Hawke moaned loudly, suddenly tremendously glad her servants were nowhere near. Bucking his hips up and down, he took her roughly, surging within her welcoming depths.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Nails rained down his back as she continuously chanted, angry welts forming in their wake. He groaned loudly at this, pumping into her with vigour.

"That's it. Just like that," he grunted, slaps of skin echoing throughout the room. But Hawke was not content to simply lay there while he did all the work. She writhed eagerly beneath him, her own hips lifting to meet his movements, legs criss-crossing over the small of his back.

"You certainly know how to work your hips," Anders retorted in a deep breath as he continued his assault on her sheath.

"If you'll allow me to ride you, I can really show you what I can do."

"Watching those beautiful breasts sway as you take your pleasure? I think I can arrange that," he said, and in the span of a second, he flipped them so that he lay beneath her. Hawke laughed in surprise, righting herself so that she comfortably sat atop him, knees planted on the mattress below. "Well?" he said impatiently, smacking the swell of her ass. "Get to work."

Hawke heeded his request, hips gyrating, moving up and down his length as she rode him earnestly. Anders watched her, eyes hungering as her breasts bounced with her movements. Two hands grasped them, pinching erect nipples in between skillful fingers. Without warning, another jolt of lightning spread through her, this time through her erect peaks. Hawke yelped, intense pleasure shooting through her entire system. Ending his spell, he let go, placing his hands at her back and urging her forward. Once close enough, his lips latched onto one of her nipples, tongue laving eagerly across her flesh. Unhappy to simply let her take over, he lowered his hands, taking hold of shapely hips as he bucked up into her. Hawke cried out, and Anders switched to her other breast, lapping just as eagerly, sucking her peak into his mouth.

After a few minutes of teasing her with his mouth, he rest his head against the pillows, focusing his efforts on gripping her hips, pulling her down against him as she rode him swiftly. Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, causing a frown to spread across his face.

"You know, I don't exactly feel like looking at your face," he sneered, smacking her ass with a hand. A loud crack resounded across the room, and Hawke moaned in pleasure despite the cruelty of his words. She did, in fact, like it rough, yearning for him to debase her. It was what she deserved, afterall. "On your hands and knees."

Climbing off of him, Hawke positioned herself as he demanded, and Anders arranged himself behind her. As soon as he knelt in place, he pushed forward, spearing through her heat once more. Hands roughly squeezed the swell of her hips as he bucked his into her, again and again.

"This is what you deserve," he grunted. "To be taken like a bitch in heat."

"Maker, yes!" she nearly howled.

"Like that, do you? To be told what you are?"

Hawke let out another needful groan. "Yes. Please, don't stop."

"Oh, I don't intend to. Look at how you need it," he said, hips bucking even faster. "You were desperate for a rough pounding, weren't you? Even if it was given by a lowly mage."

"No, Anders. I was desperate to have _you_," she responded, pushing back against his movements. He moaned loudly at her admission, or perhaps it was her swaying of hips. Hawke knew not, only that she desperately needed him to continue.

"You say it like you mean it," he said, his voice sounding a bit vulnerable. But it only lasted a swift moment, for soon he hurriedly bucked into her, as if a mad man. "But I know your true nature. You take what you want, from whoever will give it to you." One of his hands wandered inwards, and suddenly, she felt the tip of his thumb nudging at the entrance of her ass. Hawke gasped, a loud moan tearing through her. "Yeah, you want my thumb in there?" he asked.

"Oh Maker, please!" she keened.

"You really are a whore," he grunted and her inner walls clamped in excitement. "But tonight, you're my whore."

The scent of mana filled her senses again, and something wet and slippery nudged against her hole. "A little grease spell, not that you deserve any consideration," he said, and slowly slipped his thumb inside. She became all the more sensitive, feeling that much tighter, the nerves of her rear tingling with satisfying pressure. Anders moved his thumb in time with his thrusts, taking his pleasure roughly. His free hand wove into her tresses, pulling her head back, limiting her movements. A rough wail left her throat, and Anders groaned. "That's it. You're nothing more than a tight, little hole for me to fill. You do know that don't you?" he asked, and Hawke was helpless to do anything other than whimper her agreement. Yes ... yes, tonight, she belonged to him. Her pleasure, her body, was his. His to have. His to own. His to control.

The rogue loved everything about their obscene and animalistic coupling. The harsh crashing of sharp hips into the swell of her ass. The way he stretched both her holes. The ragged groans that tore through him as he took his pleasure from her. The naughty words that spilled forth, affecting them both. Within minutes, his movements became erratic, and she knew his end soon approached.

"Please Anders, please let me come," she begged.

"You think you deserve it?" he asked, giving a particularly rough thrust of his thumb.

"Perhaps not … but I need it. Please," she whined.

"Under one condition," he said.

"Anything."

"You let me come all over that deceitful face first. Only then, will I let you finish."

"Done."

He withdrew from her in an instant, ambling to get off the bed and onto the floor. He pulled Hawke's legs, urging her off the bed and on her knees. There, he stood over her, stroking his member and looking down at her.

"Eyes on mine," he demanded. "Tongue out," he said, and she quickly obeyed. Allowing her tongue to fall across open lips, she stared up into his eyes as he furiously beat himself off. "I am going to mark that face of yours. You debase yourself so easily for me. We both know this is your true place. Champion or not, you belong on your knees before a mage." Hawke could have sworn his voice melded with Justice's, taking a dark undertone of anger. But she'd not the time to ponder, as a moment later thick jets of his release splashed across her tongue. Hawke closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his climax land across her cheeks, as she tasted the salty essence of him on her tongue. "Swallow," he said, and as she did so, his lightning spell cast forward, aimed for the heat between her thighs. It vibrated against her, flicking her rigorously. Having been built to the brink of orgasm for so long, she surrendered to the feeling, crying out as orgasm swept over her, violent and sudden, just as their rutting had been.

By the time she had come down from her climax and finally opened her eyes, Anders began to dress himself. He avoided her gaze as he would a stranger's. Usually after a good lay, Hawke would be happy to have her partner linger awhile while they absentmindedly bathed in the afterglow. But there would be no such post-coital bliss. Not with Anders. Not after … everything. Using her sheets, she wiped away the rest of his spend from her face. His words from earlier came rushing back in a cruel wave, coming to torment her. '_I loved you once, you know.' _Her heart plummeted into the bottom of her gut, weighed down by a lifetime of regret, sorrow, guilt, and helplessness.

"Are you to kill me now you've had your fill?" he asked. Hawke looked to him with tearful eyes.

"Never. I could never kill you, Anders. But you won't be safe in Kirkwall. Not any longer. I have coin if you have need - "

"I don't," he said. "Even if you had killed me tonight, another from the underground would act in my place. It's too late."

She wanted to ask him what he meant, what he had planned, but she knew he would reveal nothing more. Would this be the last time she saw him? Was this yet another goodbye? She supposed there were worse ways to say goodbye, but this feeling of helplessness twisted in her gut, numbing her from the inside out.

Anders looked to the bed, then back to her form, still kneeling where he left her. "For what it's worth … I'm sorry," he said sadly.

"If it's about what we just did … there is no need. I eagerly consented to - "

"No. Not about what happened here. I'm sorry for … what is to come." Tying up his boots, he gave her one last regretful look. "I forgive you for going to Cullen. I know, in the end, you have a kind and decent heart. Goodbye, Hawke."

With that, he left her estate, just as quietly as he'd entered. Perhaps, he hadn't found the answers he expected in her room, but instead found the closure he needed in order to forgive. Resting her head in her hands, Hawke sobbed for a friend lost to his demons, for a possible love that was never allowed to flourish due to a spirit that haunted his every turn. In the grand scheme of things, this night would be but a tiny bump amidst the world of hurt about to be hurdled her way.

* * *

"_It's not my fault_," Hawke whispered to herself as thick rivulets of smoke filled her nose and burned her eyes. Anders' lifeless body lay on the ground, blood dripping from a blade. Not a Templar's blade, but one of her own. In the end, it turned out she did possess the courage to end his life. If only she had done it sooner …

Perhaps then, Kirkwall wouldn't be burning. Perhaps then, hundreds of lives would have been saved. Perhaps … it really was her fault after all.

Looking to his lifeless form, his secret finally exposed, she wondered if he gave in to her whims that night so that he might have one last happy memory of her to cherish before he forced her hand. Or perhaps, it was simply one last screw he sought after. It mattered little at the moment. He had tested her nature again and again, and in the end, even without him, she would defend the mages. She would save them from the fate he left them to.

Only time would tell if Anders would be the hand that finally undid her ... the celebrated 'Champion of Kirkwall', she thought to herself, leading her weary companions to the steps that would take them to The Gallows, down the indiscernible path laid out before her. There awaited her fate, and even possibly … her death.

Gazing upon his lifeless body once more, Hawke shook her head with regret. '_Goodbye, Anders,' _she thought. '_Perhaps soon I will join you."_


End file.
